Chapter 4 #2
Her position was precarious. Her kinswoman, Aoife, may be married to the Norse jarl, but who was to say at some point they would not decide to use her and her son as leverage or as hostages.
Every night she prayed they would not. However, alliances could change quickly and she was nothing but a pawn.
If she wanted to keep any control over her life and that of her son, she needed to move soon, before what happened to her next became a decision made by others.
“Will you play with me, Mama?” Caelin asked, looking at her with a Hnafetafl board in his hand. She sighed and nodded. There was nothing else to be done today, and she would need to bide her time and take whatever opportunity presented itself.
Caelin won every match because of Gemma’s distraction.
When a thrall came to retrieve their trenchers, she glimpsed Arne outside the door of her room and her stomach clenched.
She looked over at her son, who was putting the game away.
Would he grow up with this level of suspicion surrounding him?
Her heart ached to think so. No, she couldn’t allow this.
The longer they stayed, the more attached Caelin would become to the people here.
“Mama?” Caelin came to stand beside her, and she hastily closed the door before Arne saw her looking out. He would probably decide she was plotting to escape with the fishermen. “Will I be allowed to play with Elisedd and Einar tomorrow?”
“Perhaps, but only if the fishermen are gone.”
Caelin nodded, and she envied her son’s ability to take whatever happened in his stride. “As soon as they saw the boat today, they knew to bring me back here, but I wish we didn’t have to hide.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine. Yes, the boys had done the right thing.
For the first time, however, she wondered about the motivations for their friendship.
Had Arne tasked the boys with watching Caelin, rather than befriending him?
Was there anyone here whom they could truly trust?
She understood the need for safety and caution, but she had thought she had some friends here, thought her son had made friends.
Perhaps none of this was real. Perhaps all along they had been viewed as nothing more than a dangerous inconvenience and people had been tasked with keeping them from betraying them.
“Come, Caelin. It is late, time to rest,” she said.
“But—” When he yawned, she smiled at him and he got ready for bed. As he settled down for the night, she paced from one side of the room to the other.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you worried about the fishermen?”
“A little, but there is nothing for you to worry about. Now, go to sleep.” She sat beside him and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.
Once he was snoring, she resumed her pacing.
They had been fortunate to be taken in here.
She knew that. The settlement was home to a few Britons as well as various Norse families.
Further west, on the islands of Dal Riata, there were more settlements where the Norse and the Gaels lived side by side, working and sometimes fighting together.
Their communities were intermarrying, and she’d heard them referred to as the Gall-Ghàidheil, the foreign Gaels, as if they were one people now.
Would such a thing eventually happen here?
Islands were easily surrounded by boats and more susceptible to invasion.
Strath Clut, with its inland heartlands, was not so easily accessed by the Norsemen.
It would take time for incomers to move beyond the banks of the Clut and its tributaries and other areas close to the water like this peninsula and the shores of Loch Llumonwy where Car Cadell stood.
Those were Cenydd’s lands, and he was a young man, with a reputation for diplomacy rather than brute force.
He was ambitious, though, and there was no telling how he would try to shape his own future.
No, the Britons’ first instinct would be to fight to keep the Norsemen out.
What worried her more was that they would fight amongst themselves as well, weakening the kingdom’s power.
Marcant had already tried this and, while he had failed so far, he would try again and she did not want her son being used as a pawn in any of those games.
Nor did she want him being watched all his life, in case he was a traitor.
She didn’t want to be responsible for others living in constant fear, nor would she be watched and accused of being a traitor for the rest of her life.
What sort of life was that for her son? He deserved more, and she needed to act now to ensure he got it.
She took a deep breath. She needed to plan, and quickly.
The sooner they left, the better. It would mean fewer opportunities for Arne to guess what she was up to and stop her.
She was about to open the kist to pack when there was a soft knock on the door. She hurried over to open the door.
Ylva stood on the threshold smiling at her as she rubbed her lower back then ran her hand over her stomach, but made no move to enter.
Ylva had helped to rescue Gemma from Alt Clut last summer and had left her husband Bjorn alone on a battlefield to protect Gemma and Caelin.
Yet she had never once blamed Gemma for that or made her feel guilty.
She flicked her eyes to her left, and Gemma noticed Arne standing guard near the door to the main hall.
“Ah, so you are still here,” Ylva said, exchanging a look with Arne. “Not running away, nor consorting with enemy fishermen?”
“Ylva,” Arne warned.
“I said I would stay in my room,” Gemma said.
“I’m sure you did.” Ylva shook her head and sighed.
“Aoife is resting now. Ragna says she must stay in bed. She was asking for you.” Ylva glared at Arne.
Gemma did not follow her gaze. All the suspicion was weighing on her, and she did not need to see even more evidence of it.
It only cemented her decision to leave. Both she and Ylva glanced around in surprise when Arne spoke.
“Tomorrow will be time enough to see Aoife. Once the fishermen go home, you can leave your room again.”
“Until then, I am your prisoner,” Gemma snapped.
Arne did not deny it.
Ylva rolled her eyes. “Surely Gemma—”
“No, Ylva. Missing one night of idle chatter is a small price to pay for the safety of us all.”
“Arne, you’re exaggerating! Gemma has been such a comfort to Aoife, who has never given birth before and—”
“Ylva.” Arne turned to face his sister-in-law. “There are many women here who have birthed children. They can advise Aoife for one night. My mother has had several.”
“And look how they turned out,” Ylva muttered, grinning at Gemma.
Just then, the door to the main hall swung open.
Arne turned and for a moment Gemma saw an unfamiliar man.
Then Arne reached for his sword as Ylva pushed her back into her room and closed the door.
Gemma stood, breathing rapidly, ready to run to Caelin should the need arise but for the moment, frozen in place.
She blinked at the sight of Ylva with a large knife in her hand, ready for anyone entering.
After some drunken shouting in Brythonic and Norse, however, she heard the other door slam shut once more and peace reigned again.
Ylva kept her stance, knife held in front of her.
Gemma took deep breaths as she fought to slow her racing heart. She should not be standing behind Ylva, hiding. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Ylva or her unborn child. But what could she do? She was unarmed and had her own child to protect.
She hadn’t come up with any solutions by the time there was another soft knock on the door. Ylva relaxed her stance and answered it. Arne stood framed in the doorway, his expression serious.
“You should return to Aoife,” Arne said to Ylva.
“Gemma—” Ylva began.
“Thank you, Ylva,” Gemma interrupted. She wanted Ylva as far away from her as possible to keep her safe. “Please send Aoife my good wishes. And my apologies.”
Ylva looked from Arne to Gemma and back, then nodded. “Very well,” she agreed, her mouth tight. “I’m sure Aoife will be pleased to see you as soon as you are allowed to visit. She knows it is not your fault. We all know this is not your fault.” She left the room.
Gemma smiled and closed the door softly behind her. Except it was her fault. And it was not only Arne who blamed her. The tension in the settlement was not due just to the arrival of a few fishermen caught in a storm, but because of her presence. Another knock sounded at the door.
“What is it?” she called through the wood.
“Bar the door, Gemma. You will be safer,” came Arne’s voice.
“I will,” she promised. She frowned, noting the turn of phrase.
“You will be safer,” Arne had said. Not the settlement.
Her. She shook her head. That was not what he had meant.
He cared only for his own people and the settlement.
It was the one thing she was sure of. He didn’t care for her.
No one cared for her. She slid the bar into place across the door and heard his footsteps return up the passageway as soon as it was done.
She couldn’t tell whether he had gone back into the hall or not, so she would need to be as quiet as possible.
Gemma set to work quickly and quietly, preparing to leave.
From under her bed, she retrieved the leather bag she had brought with her from Alt Clut and packed warm clothing for herself and Caelin, a blanket each, and her most valuable items to sell or barter.
She picked out a brooch that Ragna had admired often and set it aside to leave in the storeroom in exchange for some food.
Once finished, she hid her bag under the bed. Finally, she settled down to sleep, praying she would wake early enough to be gone before the settlement awakened.